Dosed to Death

by P. D. Workman

  They didn’t have much conversation on the way up. Kenzie sensed that Zachary was disappointed in Lorne and Pat leaving so early and was brooding over it. Having them come to share dinner with them had been a good idea. It had really helped to cheer Zachary up. But it would have been better if they had been able to stay longer.

  Zachary quickened his pace slightly to reach the door of the house before Kenzie, and he opened it for her, standing back to give her room to enter. Kenzie smiled at him and went in. They shucked off the winter coats and gear and hung them up on the hooks provided. It looked like most of the other guests were there ahead of them. Kenzie couldn’t help noticing the luxurious suede jacket hung next to hers. Brittany Blake’s, she supposed.

  They proceeded to the dining room. Zachary nodded briefly at the others already gathered there and went to the muffin dish, looking them over and picking out another of the chocolate chip muffins for his breakfast. Kenzie grabbed herself a plate and was choosing from the various offerings that had been laid out. Similar, but not identical to what had been there the day before.

  “Where is Mr. Dewey?” an aggrieved voice demanded. “This really is not acceptable. I spoke to the cook yesterday and let her know my requirements.”

  Vance Stiller, of course. Still thinking that he could order whatever he wanted rather than choosing from what was on offer.

  “I haven’t seen him this morning,” Redd Flagg offered. “You could ask someone on the staff.”

  “He’s the host, why isn’t he here? He should be making sure that everything goes smoothly.”

  “He usually does. Must be something else going on this morning. Maybe something is going on down at the barn that needed his attention. A place like this has to be maintained.”

  “He should have a man to take care of that. What about the one who drove for the hayride yesterday? Didn’t he say that he was the handyman? He’s the one that should be looking after any of the outdoor stuff. People like this just don’t know how to prioritize and delegate.”

  “You’re pretty vocal when you don’t even know what’s holding him up,” Jack observed. “Why don’t you give the guy a break? Those of us who have been here longer than you know that he’s very conscientious.”

  “I can only judge by what I see, and he’s clearly not here.”

  There were some more murmurs of disapproval. Kenzie couldn’t tell for sure whether they were in support of Vance, disapproving of the service, or whether they objected to his casting aspersions on their host.

  Kenzie was inclined to agree with Vance just a little. Their host didn’t seem to be quite as pleasant and diligent as she would have expected from a place like the Lodge, which made its living off of customer service. But the man was tired, running a resort when he should have been retired. The loss of his wife had been fairly recent, and he probably didn’t find it easy to run the Lodge without her. When they had run it together for decades, it would be difficult for him to pick up all of her responsibilities on top of his own.

  Kenzie made her choices as to her breakfast plate and sat down at the table with Zachary and his muffin.

  “What do you think?” she murmured. “You think Mr. Dewey is off dealing with other Lodge business?”

  Zachary shrugged, picking at the muffin. “Could be things that have to be done before the storm blows in. He might have been here earlier. It looks like everything has been taken care of. No reason he has to stay here the whole time breakfast is available. Didn’t you say it’s out until eleven? He’s not going to spend all morning hovering over the guests.” He put a chocolate chip in his mouth. “Not with the storm coming.”

  Kenzie nodded her agreement. All good points.

  The young woman who had helped to serve dinner, Samantha, checked on the coffee carafe and made sure that nothing else needed to be refreshed. She tried unsuccessfully to avoid Vance Stiller. He put himself in front of her and wouldn’t let her pass.

  “So where is Dewey? Did you talk to him? Tell him I want to see him?”

  Samantha tried to get around Dewey gracefully. “I haven’t seen him this morning.”

  “Well, what about the rest of the staff? What about the cook?”

  “No, Mrs. Hubbard says that she hasn’t seen him either. I’m sorry. I’m sure he’ll be back... sometime. You can tell him then if you have complaints. In the meantime...” She motioned to the sideboard laden with food. “There is coffee if you want it.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you have any way of reaching him? A cell phone? Walkie-talkie? You’re telling me that he just takes off, and you have no way of letting him know if there is an emergency?”

  “He’s not answering his phone. Coverage can be spotty up here sometimes. With the storm coming in, the cloud cover might be blocking the signal.”

  “So you have no way of reaching him. What if there were a medical emergency?”

  “The staff have first aid training. We could call the county for help. But... this is not an emergency.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “I demand to see him.”

  “Vance,” Brittany Blake, who was prodding a few berries with her spoon, sounded as if she’d had enough. “You’re being a pain. Get a coffee and sit down.”

  He looked at her, color rising to his face. Apparently, he was not accustomed to being spoken to like that. He was used to deference, even when he was being unreasonable. Brittany held his gaze, waiting. Eventually, Vance stalked over to the coffee carafe and put a mug under the spout.

  “It’s probably not even fresh,” he complained. He sniffed the air as the coffee dribbled into his cup. “They don’t grind their own beans, I’ll tell you that. Cheap grocery store ground coffee.”

  “Sit down and drink it,” Brittany told him.

  Vance obeyed. Everyone was watching him, and he definitely did not appreciate being spoken to that way in front of the whole room. He sipped the coffee, grimaced dramatically, and set it down in front of him.

  “I thought you were here to relax,” Brittany said. “So why are you so uptight?”

  “This isn’t exactly relaxing.”

  “If you’re going to act like a pain, then no. If you focus on enjoying the atmosphere and what they have to offer, you could let your hair down and not be so tense.”

  He grunted and had another sip of coffee. Maybe he just needed his caffeine fix for the day.

  “You can talk to Mr. Dewey at supper or some other time today when he’s not busy with other stuff. But you treat him like you would treat another business owner instead of your servant.”

  “I don’t treat people that way.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him and didn’t comment.

  Suddenly, there was a siren-like wail that raised the hair on the back of Kenzie’s neck. She and Zachary were instantly on their feet. Everybody else seemed to be frozen where they were.

  “Upstairs,” Zachary said.

  The two of them were halfway up the stairs before anyone else in the dining room could say anything.

  16

  Kenzie and Zachary rushed to the top of the stairs just as everyone in the dining room started to talk, asking each other questions and looking up as if they might be able to see through the walls. The cries were coming from one of the bedrooms. Kenzie made it through the doorway just ahead of Zachary.

  Mrs. Hubbard stood over the bed, her hands over her mouth, crying out again.

  “It’s Stuart. He’s... I thought he was out at the barn... but then, Mr. Burknall said he wasn’t, and I came up here to make sure that he wasn’t sick, and...”

  They could see that there was no immediate danger. No one was being attacked. Kenzie moved forward, shifting immediately into her professional persona. “Stay back, please, and let me have a look.”

  Mrs. Hubbard took a couple of steps back to make room for her, and Kenzie approached the bed and pulled back the blanket. Mr. Stuart Dewey was pale and stiff, clearly d
ead for some hours. Kenzie went through the motions anyway, checking for a pulse, pulling back an eyelid, testing for how advanced rigor was. She could hear the others approaching, coming up the stairs to see what was going on.

  “Zachary, keep them out of here. Shut the door. Mrs. Hubbard, is there a doctor who comes out here? Maybe an ambulance or medical examiner?”

  “I don’t know!” Mrs. Hubbard wiped at her eyes. “Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

  “Do you have 9-1-1 service?”

  “No. Not up here. You have to call the police department directly. I... I don’t have the number. Maybe Mr. Dewey does.”

  Kenzie took a glance around the room. She didn’t see a personal address book or a cell phone. “Does he have an office where he keeps a phone book or a Rolodex?”

  Dewey was old school. He wouldn’t have it on a computer or electronic device.

  “There is... his wife’s writing desk. Down the hall.”

  “Go check there.”

  Kenzie looked around for any other relevant details in the room, noting Mr. Dewey’s position, the glass of water on the nightstand, a couple of pill bottles. There was no sign that anything had been disturbed. The body looked natural, with no blood or sign of violence. Pictures, personal effects, some that were probably his wife’s.

  Zachary finished dealing with the other guests and returned to the bedroom. “That Vance Stiller is a pain in the neck,” he observed, shaking his head. “Thinks the rules don’t apply to him. He can demand or buy whatever he wants. He doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.” He got closer to the bed, but not close enough to make Kenzie anxious that he might disturb the scene. “How does he look?”

  Kenzie shrugged. “Can’t tell much from just looking at him. Looks natural. Heart attack, maybe.”

  “No one stabbed him in his sleep?”

  “No.” Kenzie lifted the blanket to visualize his back, but still couldn’t see signs of anything untoward. “Nothing suspicious about the scene. He was an old man. Not happy with life. Missing his wife. Sometimes people are just ready.”

  Zachary nodded.

  “Can you find me a phone number for the police or county medical examiner?” Kenzie asked.

  Zachary pulled out his phone and started tapping. “I wonder about a next of kin. If there is some family member that we need to call. Someone will have to make decisions about the Lodge and what to do with it.”

  Kenzie nodded. She had been wondering what impact this would have on everyone’s holidays. Was the Lodge set up to just keep running, even though the guiding hand had passed away? Or would they all have to pack up and go home? She didn’t want to have to drive through what the weather bureau was saying would be the storm of the century.

  Zachary found a phone number and read it out to her. Kenzie pulled out her own phone and tapped it in.

  The answer came quickly. “County Police Services. Darleen Star, Officer of the Day.”

  “Officer Star, my name is Dr. Kenzie Kirsch. I’m staying at the Dewey Lodge, and there has been a death. I wasn’t sure who to notify to take care of things.”

  “A death? What kind of death? Was there an accident?”

  “It looks like a natural death. He didn’t wake up in the morning. Maybe a heart attack.”

  “All the way up at the Lodge,” Star murmured to someone in the background. “Doctor, what is your area of expertise? Are you a medical doctor?”

  “Yes. I’m a pathologist; I assist in the Medical Examiner’s Office in Roxboro.”

  “Well, aren’t we lucky,” Star laughed. “Sounds like you’re the right person to have on hand. You have verified death?”

  “Yes... he’s definitely dead.”

  “We’re going to have trouble getting anyone up to you in the next little while. We are overstretched right now battening down the hatches for the storm. It’s going to be a doozy, if you haven’t been watching the news.”

  “Yeah. We’re aware of it.”

  “We will get someone up to you as soon as possible to take care of arrangements. In the meantime... if you could do what you can to secure the scene?”

  Kenzie looked around to see how she was going to manage that. She couldn’t exactly stand guard on it until the authorities arrived. Who knew when that would be? Probably not in the next few hours. Mrs. Hubbard returned, shaking her head at her failed mission to find a phone number for Kenzie.

  “Mrs. Hubbard, does that door lock?”

  “Well... yes; of course it does.”

  “Who has keys to it?”

  “Mr. Dewey. The maid, Samantha. I really don’t know if there are any other copies.”

  “Okay. We need to lock up until the police can send someone up here. It might be a while. Go get Samantha’s key. Do you know where Mr. Dewey keeps his?”

  “His keys should all be on the ring in his pocket.” Mrs. Hubbard looked around and nodded to the clothes discarded on the floor. “Probably in his pants.”

  Kenzie bent down and picked the pants up. They were weighty and jingled, so she inserted two fingers and pulled out a key ring with a large number of keys on it. “I guess it’s on here somewhere. Along with keys to every other lock on the property.”

  Mrs. Hubbard nodded solemnly.

  “Okay. Get Samantha’s. Please.”

  Kenzie waited until Mrs. Hubbard left again. She looked at Zachary. “If they can’t get up before the storm rolls in, and it doesn’t sound like they will, then it might be a few days before everything has cleared up enough for them to get here.”

  “Are you worried about decomposition?”

  “I don’t normally have to worry about it. We have refrigerated drawers. I haven’t ever had to preserve a body without them.”

  “You could open the window.”

  Kenzie looked at the window and considered. It was the obvious solution. It would definitely be cold enough. Probably too cold, since she didn’t actually want to freeze the body. But she would take freezing over the evidence breaking down before the authorities could reach them. And no one wanted the whole house smelling like decomp.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess that will have to do.” Kenzie sighed, at loose ends. “I don’t have my liver probe with me, so I can’t take a reading to determine approximate time of death.”

  “You didn’t bring your liver probe on vacation?” Zachary teased.

  “What was I thinking when I packed?”

  “I could see if they have a thermometer we can use. Maybe one in the kitchen like you use for turkeys?”

  “I think they might be a bit freaked out if I poke it into Mr. Dewey, and it won’t be calibrated properly. It’s meant for much higher temperatures. I guess... I’ll need to make a determination based on rigor mortis and external temperature. Can you see if someone has one of those digital ear or forehead thermometers? And I’ll need the current room temperature as accurately as possible. I’ll write down all of my observations and the County Medical Examiner can make a determination based on that.”

  “I’m sure that will be fine. It isn’t like we’re trying to figure out who had an opportunity to murder him. He died sometime between going to sleep last night and when he would normally rise this morning. The staff should be able to give you the outside parameters.”

  Kenzie nodded. Zachary departed to find a thermometer. Kenzie pulled out her phone, tapped the notepad app, and started making observations. Rigor appeared to be complete, so Dewey had probably been dead for a minimum of three to six hours. Kenzie took a number of pictures of Mr. Dewey and the scene. Mrs. Hubbard gasped in shock when she returned.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, aghast.

  It took Kenzie a minute to realize what Mrs. Hubbard was so upset about. Most people didn’t go around taking pictures of dead bodies. Mrs. Hubbard probably thought she was ghoulish or maybe that she would post them to social media for everyone to see.

  “No, no, it’s okay.” she assured the cook. “I’m just trying to get
a record of everything for the authorities. They’ll take their own pictures when they get here, but we don’t know how long that will be, and I want a record in case anything changes between now and then.”

  She was careful not to mention that she wasn’t sure how much Mr. Dewey might decompose before then. That might just do Mrs. Hubbard in.

  Mrs. Hubbard sniffed. “I don’t know about all of this,” she said, shaking her head. “Mr. Dewey wouldn’t like it. Guests in his room taking pictures. Acting like they own the place.”

  “I don’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Hubbard. I’m just trying to make sure that everything is done the right way. You wouldn’t want the police accusing us of wrongdoing, would you?”

  “No! Heavens, no. I wouldn’t have anything to do with such... behavior.”

  “Of course not,” Kenzie agreed. “So this is for your protection. I can show them that nothing has been touched or moved. You won’t have to defend yourself against accusations that someone was in here and... moved the body or went through Mr. Dewey’s possessions. If anything of value were to disappear, you would want me to be able to show them that it didn’t happen on our watch, wouldn’t you?” She said it in a confidential tone.

  Mrs. Hubbard drew a little closer, nodding. But then her eyes dropped to Mr. Dewey’s corpse, and she looked away again, trying to keep control of her emotions. She dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. “I just... don’t understand it. Poor Mr. Dewey. I didn’t even know he was sick.”

  Kenzie leaned closer to read the labels on the pill bottles on the nightstand. “It looks like he had high blood pressure and depression.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Hubbard wept some more, pressing the handkerchief to her eyes. “Yes, but he was in good health. He never expected to go now...”

  “Well, he’s with Mrs. Dewey now, isn’t he?” Kenzie comforted. Not that she believed in heaven or loved ones awaiting the newly departed. But it gave comfort to many people.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Hubbard agreed, with more sniffling. She looked at the picture on his dresser, a much younger Stuart Dewey with a woman of about his age. And a son, a dark-haired older teen or young adult standing between them. Possibly a son. “He loved her very much. He hasn’t been the same since she passed.”